


Consequences

by Lucigoosey_The_Lightbringer



Series: Monster You Made Me [1]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Child Abuse, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Child Robert Chase, Death, Drugs, Gen, How Chase's mom died, Murder, Murder by Drugging, Non-Graphic Violence, Overdose, PTSD, Pre-Canon, References to Drugs, Robert Chase Has PTSD - Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Young Robert Chase
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27059044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucigoosey_The_Lightbringer/pseuds/Lucigoosey_The_Lightbringer
Summary: He's not thinking, not really - a part of him is. A part of him is buzzing like a live wire laid bare, adrenaline coursing through his veins. It has nothing to do with excitement, nor apprehension. Actually, it's kind of numb, but determined. It's over. He's done. He can't take it anymore.-----"You think you can kill another human being without any consequences to yourself?""No."
Relationships: Robert Chase & Robert Chase's Mother, Robert Chase & Robert Chase's Sister, Robert Chase & Rowan Chase
Series: Monster You Made Me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1974880
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	Consequences

Robert Chase is fifteen years old when his mother dies.

Ever since he was a little boy, he watched her sit on the couch, hardly moving, barely speaking. Aside from the occasional order to fetch her a drink or turn the television on or grab the mail, she didn't speak to him. She didn't interact with him unless it was to scream at him, or throw things at him, or lock him in Rowan's study whenever she decided he was particularly irritating. He quickly became used to this treatment, learning what upset her and what didn't. He took care of her and his sister to the best of his ability, and continued to do so even after Rowan left. He cooked meals, he worked for the neighbors for money, he struggled to pay bills and buy enough food for all of them - as well as keep the fridge stocked with his mother's favorite beer, so she didn't freak out. At the age of seven, he became accustomed to paying off strangers for alcohol, avoiding authorities like the plague and keeping to himself for the most part. It wasn't easy, but it was his life, and he tried his best to adjust to it. There was only so much he could do, after all.

She works sometimes, when she's not too drunk. But she doesn't go out and do things for herself; it's up to Chase to do that kind of thing, to do the shopping, the bills, everything. He makes sure his sister takes top priority, keeping her fed and cleaned and as happy as he can. His mother is next on the list - Chase takes very low priority in the household, but that's alright. He'd rather make sure his sister is taken care of above all else - somebody has to.

He grows to resent his mother. The way she screams at them. Throws things. Breaks things. The way she sends his sister crying to her room. But the last straw is the first - and last - time Chase forgets to buy alcohol; he's stressed with highschool, just starting a job that just barely hired him, and he just… forgets. His mother goes berserk, screaming and slamming dishes into the floor, throwing trash everywhere, flipping tables. Chase is trying to calm her down, ignoring flailing arms and fists and nails and new bruises and scrapes beginning to litter his frail body.

His sister's there before Chase can react, pulling their mother off of him and trying to coax her into the living room. He doesn't have time to scream out a warning, to tell her to go back to her room, before their mother whirls around and the back of her hand connects with the girl's cheek.

Everybody freezes, and Chase sees his mother's eyes clear for the first time in a long time. She wavers on the spot, looking almost like she's about to apologize - then she sneers, and faints.

"Robbie?" His sister gasps, holding her face. He stumbles to her first, ignoring his mother's limp body for the time being. It takes a second of coaxing before his sister allows him to pull her hand away to study the bruise already forming on her face. He clenches his teeth, fights back a rush of fury, and sends her off to her room with an ice pack. He can't do anything about a bruise, he's read enough of his father's medical books to know that. Once she's safely locked away in her room, Chase takes it upon himself to tidy up the rest of the kitchen, but he leaves his mother where she is. He feels sick enough thinking about what she's just done. He can't look at her.

When he finishes, he leaves, calling one of his 'friends' for a pack of alcohol. This time, however, he asks for something else as well - and the guy willingly supplies it to him.

It's late when he gets home, and his mother has picked herself up off of the floor and is wandering around the house in a daze, grumbling under her breath. She collapses on the couch when he walks in, peers at him over the back of it, and eyes the bag in his hand with intrigue. "Finally," she snaps, and he has to resist the urge to glare at her. Resentment can't even begin to light a candle to the way he feels about her now. He loathes her to the highest degree.

He says nothing, slipping into the kitchen to prepare her drink. He takes out one of the bottles, searching the kitchen for any glasses that had survived his mother's rampage, and pours it up to the brim. Then he takes out the pack of pills he'd gotten, counting out fifteen and popping them from the package. He drops them in one at a time, waiting for the first one to dissolve before he adds another, and another, and another. He waits a moment longer before stuffing the package away and grabbing the glass, stepping around the table and heading back to the living room. He's not thinking, not really - a part of him is. A part of him is buzzing like a live wire laid bare, adrenaline coursing through his veins. It has nothing to do with excitement, nor apprehension. Actually, it's kind of numb, but determined. It's over. He's done. He can't take it anymore.

She slurps down the glass with gusto and he turns the TV on for her. She finishes too quickly, thrusting the glass at him in a silent demand for more, and he takes it and retreats in silence.

He prepares another glass with a few more pills for good measure, but there's no point. He hears a hard _thump_ only a minute later, the sound of her body rolling off of the couch and hitting the floor. All he does is reach behind him to dump the rest of the alcohol in the sink, leaving the half-empty package of pills on the table. He stays where he is until he hears his sister's bedroom door creak, a quiet call of "Robbie?" reaching his ears as she walks down the hall.

He enters the living room at the same time she does, putting a look of shock on his face when his gaze fixes on his mother. She's on her back, eyes wide open, looking up at the ceiling. Her chest isn't moving, and her mouth is half-open, a small stream of vomit dribbling down her jaw.

His sister screams and rushes forward, but he catches her in his arms before she reaches the woman, shushing her quickly and turning away so she doesn't have to see. He pulls her into the kitchen instead, mumbling "it's okay, it's okay" under his breath. She doesn't fight him, just screams again and buries her face into his chest. They stay like that for a moment, just frozen.

Chase sets her down at the table and rubs her back, attempting to soothe her.

It takes a while, but she finally calms enough to look up at him. There's no tears in her eyes, no sadness, just shock; her gaze meets his, then flicks to the table, where the half-empty beer bottle and package of pills lie. Her eyes widen a fraction, surprise settling across her face. But before he can open his mouth to explain anything, it fizzles out to a surprising amount of understanding. She doesn't say anything to him, but she wraps her arms around one of his and pulls herself closer to him, turning to bury her face into his shoulder with a long, shuddery sigh.

He understands the reaction almost immediately, wrapping his arms around her tightly and pressing his head against hers as he stares at the bottle, still numb, still buzzing. It's over.

She helps him clean up, stuffing the pills into the bottom of a trash bag before they call Rowan. She curls up at his side, and he cards his fingers through her hair as he shakily tells their father that the woman just passed out on the floor, that she wasn't breathing or moving, that he'd been debating over what to cook for dinner and only noticed when he came into the room to see what she might want to eat. The man believes every word, and it's not long before he arrives with the police, explaining her drinking problem to them while they load her body out. Then he rushes over to the kids, and Chase successfully evades a hug, and his sister barely allows the man to lay a finger on her before she slides off of her chair and wraps her arms around him again, pressing closer to his side and burying her face into his chest. He doesn't say a word, just wraps an arm around her and looks up at Rowan, silently daring him to press her further. He doesn't.

Finally, it's over. Rowan takes them to his house, and they spend the night on the couch. She doesn't say anything about it for a while - but when she does, curled up at his side with her head in his lap, it's only a quiet mumble of "thank you" that Chase hardly hears. He keeps quiet.

Robert Chase is fifteen years old when he kills his mother.

They don't talk about it after that, and Chase makes it a point to forget.

At least, he _tries._


End file.
